At night, this mindless army,   ranks unbroken by dissent,   is moved into action   and their pace does not relent.   In step, with great precision,   these dancers of the night   advance against the darkness -   how implacable their might!   Eyes undulled by moon,   their arms and legs akimbo,   they walk and live,   hoping soon to surface from this limbo.   Their minds, anticipating the dawn of the day,   shall never know what's waiting mere insight away   - too far, too soon.      Senses dimmed in semi-sentience,   only wheeling   through this plane,   only seeing fragmented images prematurely   curtailed by the brain,   but breathing, living,   knowing in some measure at least   the soul which roots the matter   of both Beauty and the Beast.   From what tooth or claw does murder spring,   from what flesh and blood does passion?   Both cut through the air with the pendulum's swing   in deadly but delicate fashion.   And every range of feeling is there in the dream   and every logic's reeling in the force of the scream   the senses sting.   And though I may be dreaming and reality stalls   I only know the meaning of sight and that's all   and that's nothing.      The columns of the night advance,   infectiously, their cryptic dance   gathers converts to the fold -   in time the whole raw world will pace   these same steps   on into the same bitter end.      Somnolent muster now the dancing dead   forsake the shelter of their secure beds,   awaken to a slumber whose depths they dread,   as if the ground they tread would give way   beneath the solemn weight of their conception.   I'd search the hidden corners of all this world,   make reason of the sensory whorl   if I only had time,   but soon the dream is ended.      Tonight, before you lay down   to the sweetness of your sleep   do you question your surrender   to the drop from Lover's Leap   or does the anaesthetic darkness   take hold on its very own?   Does your body rise in service   with not one dissenting groan?   These waking dreams of life and death   in the mirror are twisted and buckled,   lashes flicker, a catch of breath,   skin whitening at the knuckles.   The army of sleepwalkers shake their limbs   and are loose   and though I am a talker, I can phrase no excuse   not to rise again.   In the chorus of the night-time I belong   and I, like you, must dance to that moonlight song   and in the end I too must pay the cost   of this life.   If all is lost none is known   and how could we lose what we've never owned?   Oh, I'd search out every knowledge   that I could find,   unravel all the mysteries of mind,   if I only had time,   if I only had time,   but soon my time is ended.